Why Bother?
by SnidgetWalnut2761
Summary: Harry's had enough of the hardships in his life, and is contemplating giving up caring completely. That is, until, a certain blonde-haired Veela from France is thrown into his life. Fleur/Harry and probably a fair bit of Ron and Hermione bashing too. Rated M for language and adult themes.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Hey everyone. I'm kind of new to this, have been reading fanfiction for a few years now and just wanted to start writing myself. Please be somewhat kind in your reviews and if you do criticise please do so constructively. This was written at 1am on a Thursday night, and seeing as how I don't have a Beta there are most likely going to be mistakes, so please bear with me so that I can rectify any mistakes in my part.**

 **Please leave a review if you can, to help me with this story and to help make it enjoyable for everyone.**

'Why bother?' That was the question permeating through Harry Potter's mind as he nursed the bloody nose that his former-friends-turned-enemies had kindly gifted to him.

'Damn, didn't think Neville had it in him' he thought morosely. Neville, in a bid for a chance to not be perceived as the laughing stock of Gryffindor, had found his 'courage' to punch Harry in his face in front of the majority of the Gryffindor's in the common room. Harry winced as he nursed a particularly sore spot-Neville surprisingly had a mean right hook.

Despite the pain of being smacked in the face, Harry had also been blessed with a variety of cuts and gashes along his upper body, courtesy of the various cutting jinxes that had been sent his way from the resentful lions. Harry could however deal with this, having been subject to a very painful ordeal already in his short life.

He couldn't, however, deal with the emotional pain that came with his name being drawn out of the Goblet of Fire

"Fuck!" Harry's expletive echoed around the empty toilet he occupied, coincidently being Myrtle's. He had chosen this one for the isolation and solitude it offered away from the jealous inhabitants of Hogwarts who would no doubt be after him thanks to Myrtle's moaning and attitude. Myrtle wasn't exactly a 'people person' before her death, and her death certainly hadn't changed that. He glimpsed into the mirror above the sink that secretly held the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets and once more winced as he saw his reflection.

'Pathetic' was the word Ron had called him as he made his way back into the Gryffindor tower, and that was the only word that Harry felt he could use to currently describe himself. His appearance was bloodied and worn, thanks to the skirmish he had endured only a few minutes earlier. But perhaps the most significant change in Harry's appearance was the change in his eyes. No longer did the vibrant, captivating emerald hold a spark of life-only tears and shallowness.

Emptiness.

The Triwizard tournament that was being hosted at Hogwarts just seemed to spell trouble to Harry from the very beginning. A big, important, possibly life-threatening event was being hosted at his school.

'What could possibly go wrong?' he had though morbidly. And what more could go wrong?

As soon as the Goblet spewed forth a fourth piece of parchment, Harry's stomach plummeted. He just knew that for some reason his name would be etched onto that parchment that Dumbledore had caught shocked. It only got worse as the silence that had enraptured the Great Hall was broken by the voice of the headmaster.

"Harry Potter."

As Harry glanced around the hall, he was slightly overwhelmed by the animosity and hatred that was being directed his way by the vast majority of the Hogwarts population. It had shocked him so much that he had remained motionless, despite the repeated calling of his name from the headmaster. A not too kind nor subtle shove from Hermione jolted Harry out of his shock, and he slowly made his way to the antechamber that the other champions had been sent to. The heckles from the crowd gathered, his schoolmates, were painful for him to withstand, but his composure never broke. Despite the fact people he considered friends were yelling out insults to him, he carried on- even though each individual insult felt like an icy dagger slowly digging its way into his heart.

The atmosphere in the antechamber could only be described as tense, as each champion 'The rightful champions' Harry had thought, stood waiting for the judges to come and describe the rules and regulations of the tournament. What followed was a cacophony of emotions, from confusion to outright anger for certain comments made by members of those gathered towards him. It was only when Professor Moody had shed a morbid reason as to why Harry's name had come out of the Goblet did the room return to the silent tension felt when he had entered it.

"Maybe someone's hoping I die for it. Now there's a fun thought" Harry murmured cynically. "Not like I've had my fair share of shit thrown my way already in my life. Maybe I was a bad person in another life and this is the fate's way of making me atone for my past sins?"

The return to Gryffindor hadn't been a pleasant one. As soon as he stepped through the portrait of the Fat Lady (who had stared at him as if he had murdered her cat) he felt the hostile attitude of those gathered.

"Cheat!"

"You've already got enough fame, give some to the rest of us you greedy bastard!"

"Fuck you Potter!"

Again, the insults hurled his way from his housemates-the people who were meant to have his back at every turn- pierced his heart. He fought to retain his composure, but his heart shattered at the look of loathing and contempt sent his way from his two best friends.

Harry had of course tried to proclaim his innocence. That he had never wanted a part in this tournament and that if he could he would let someone else compete. Ron snapped at this.

"At least tell us how to enter you glory seeking prick! Stop holding the attention of everyone just because you're famous! Could you not have put your ego aside for a bit and let someone else have the attention for a change," Ron bellowed, his face turning an interesting shade of red that Harry felt was reminiscent of his uncle's. "I'm sick of always being in your shadow! Never speak to me again Potter."

"But Ron, you know I hate the fame, you have to believe me that I didn't put my name in that Goblet. I didn't want-"

Neville-little shy Neville; the boy Harry had always stood up for and tried to always be friendly too, had heard enough. As Harry protested his innocence on deaf ears, he had risen from the couch he had previously occupied, and proceeded to punch Harry so hard that Harry had been felled from the blow.

"Piss off Potter! We all know how much you truly love the fame and the attention you get from it. Not one year can we go by without you somehow being involved in some major school-wide event. I mean, for Merlin's sake we had bloody Dementors at this school last year! Dementors! All to try and protect you! Well I'm sick of it all being about you Potter and so is everyone else here."

Neville's sudden rant had caught everyone by surprise. Everyone had been stunned by the violent outburst, but soon enough a loud resounding cheer erupted from the Gryffindor's gathered as they seemingly agreed with Neville. Harry's composure was practically non-existent. He turned his desperate eyes up to Hermione.

"Her-Hermione? Please."

Hermione stared at Harry with a look that was akin to disappointment, and turned her back on him. Harry was once more stunned into motionlessness. This time, however, he was stirred from it by a more violent approach.

He couldn't see who had cast the spell, but soon enough a volley of cutting jinxes had been sent towards him, and his body was soon engulfed in pain. Harry scrambled to his feet and sprinted out the portrait, and away from the jeers of the Gryffindors.

Having found his way to Myrtle's toilet, Harry had proceeded to examine the effects of the assault, and sighed as he realised he had a trip to the Hospital Wing ahead of him.

His mind kept replaying the events over and over in his head, and the looks of absolute hate directed his way after everyone discovered he was a champion. The only face that was slightly different that he could recall clearly was the look of shock and horror on the face of the Beauxbaton's champion when Moody had mentioned someone was probably hoping Harry died from the tournament, and the look of sympathy she had sent his way.

"It's funny, a person who had called me a 'leetle boy' only 5 minutes earlier was the only one to seem in the slightest bit sympathetic to me and a French woman at that!" he said to himself humourlessly. His so-called friends had betrayed him and abandoned him when he needed them most, all because they thought he was simply glory seeking.

'What do they know?' was the thought that invaded his mind. 'Why should we even bother giving a shit about them anymore? What have any of them done for you? They idolise you one minute and then are jealous of you the next. Why even bother with these idiots? They don't care about you- nobody does.'

The final thought hit Harry the hardest, as it felt the truest. Nobody did seem to care for him.

And for the first time in 10 years, Harry Potter cried.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Would like to thank everyone who has taken the time to follow, favourite and review this story. Having never submitted work and seeing what I hope is a decent sized positive response to it has felt amazing, and once more I thank you.**

 **Again, I apologise for any mistakes that may be present in this chapter, as it was also written very late and as I don't have a beta I am bound to miss them, so bear with me and I'll fix them.**

 **If you could review, to tell me how to improve, if you liked it, what you would like to see e.t.c that'd be appreciated, as it will make this a more enjoyable read for everyone.**

Harry awoke to the nauseating smell of disinfectant, having travelled to the hospital wing late in the night to avoid any unwanted grief to visit Madam Pomfrey. She of course had been at first wary of visitors at the late hour, but having seen the state that Harry had found himself in again she was quick to go about curing him. How he had gotten those wounds made her wonder, but Harry had held steadfast in remaining silent as to how he his injuries were bestowed upon him. The fact that Harry had for once pleaded to stay in the Hospital Wing overnight had only served to baffle the elderly matron, as Harry was known to be stubborn and reluctant to spend any time in the hospital wing that was more than necessary.

Having used a quick _'episkey'_ spell to repair the fractured nose, she had proceeded to clean the blood off of his face and start examining the scratch-like wounds around it-courtesy of the cutting jinxes. Having looked at the state of his uniform (which had been shredded slightly due to said assault) she had then moved on to examining his upper body.

Madam Pomfrey had always considered herself to be fairly immune to gruesome sights, having worked in a magical school where students could learn very dark magic if they perused certain sections of the library, but she still had to always sit down after seeing the damage that the fourteen year old Harry's body had been through.

Scars and mementoes of his various escapades that he had suffered through in his short life were scattered across his lean body. His right arm in particular carried a rather large circular scar that was the size of his forearm and looked as though an animal had pierced his skin when trying to bite him. After hearing of his heroic deed down in the once fabled 'Chamber of Secrets' she had learnt that the animal in question hadn't been your average domestic pet. Instead it happened to be a very large, very deadly Basilisk. How the then 12 year old Harry had survived the Basilisk venom injection still bemused Poppy to this day.

When she had moved on to his upper body, she had to gasp at the sheer number of gashes along his torso and his back. Poppy suspected that Harry had been assaulted by various members of the school, but as he remained stoic and silent during the examination she could only guess as to what had occurred.

The elderly matron had proceeded to clean the wounds and repair the damage caused, before issuing Harry a bed to sleep in overnight. She herself went to sleep, hoping that Harry wouldn't have the need to return to her tender care anytime soon.

How wrong she would turn out to be.

Harry himself awoke to the feeling of numbness. His sleep had been an unpleasant one, plagued by visions of his housemates' resentful faces as well as Voldemort's hateful glare. He had slept restlessly, tossing and turning about in his sheets, having even woken up once in the dead of the night with his face drenched with sweat. Having gathered his bearings, Harry had then got dressed again, thanked Madam Pomfrey and then began the dreaded return to Gryffindor tower.

Thankfully Harry seemed to have awoken fairly early if the lack of students around the castle was an indication of the time. This of course suited Harry- he didn't have to want any repeats of last night happening again.

'Then again,' he mused, 'perhaps now that they've all had the chance for it to blow over they will come to their senses and realise that I never put my name in that godforsaken cup.'

Having spent the journey to the tower contemplating random scenarios of how various interactions with his fellow housemates could go, Harry was slightly surprised to realise he had arrived at the portrait of the Fat Lady. Giving the password to a reluctant portrait, Harry came to a halt. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he entered the common room.

Scanning the room for any early risers and finding none, Harry let out a breath of air he hadn't realised he had been holding. Collecting himself once more he made his way across the common room and up the stairs leading to his dormitory.

Sneaking into the 4th year's boy's dorm, Harry was thanking whatever deity existed for the fact his fellow dorm mates were still slumbering. Gathering his equipment for the day including his toiletries, Harry had then showered and got dressed for the day that would follow. Returning to his trunk Harry put away his toiletries and contemplated what to take from it alongside his school stuff.

'They don't trust you, so don't even think about trusting them,' the voice in his head murmured once more, 'take your broom, the map, your cloak and the photo diary of your parents.'

Agreeing once more with his head, Harry placed the recovered diary, the marauders map, his broom and his father's cloak under his arm, and locked his trunk with a simple locking spell, beginning to regret not paying attention in Charms when they were discussing useful privacy spells. Hoisting his school bag onto his shoulders, he then went in search of a place to hide his belongings from the jealous denizens residing in the fourth year boy's dorm.

Hoping to have been quick enough to escape interacting with any early rising Gryffindor's he traversed back down the stairs. Of course his luck had to run out eventually (Harry was honestly surprised it had lasted so long this morning anyway) as standing before him were two identical sets of red hair.

'Well…fuck.'

"Look Fred, it's the fourth champion of the Triwizard tournament."

"Kind of defeats the purpose of it being called 'Tri' if there's four champions doesn't it"

"That it does, but how did our illustrious boy-who-says-he-didn't-enter enter such a prestigious tournament illegally when we ourselves couldn't?"

"Maybe we're losing our touch old boy."

"Blasphemy George! Us losing our touch? That's like saying Ron's finally managed to land himself a girlfriend."

"Oh come on now. Ron getting a girlfriend? Please, like he'll ever get a…"

By this stage Harry was not only wary of the two notorious redheads, but also completely confused as to how the subject of Harry being made a reluctant fourth champion escalated into a conversation about Ron's lack of a sex life. Then again, this was a school that had possessed teachers, a deadly snake that could kill with a direct look and a horde of soul sucking dementors present in the three years that he had been a part of it. Two barking mad twins really shouldn't have surprised him by now.

Slightly irritated and anxious, Harry interrupted them: "What do you want?"

The two stopped their conversation and glanced at each other, then back to Harry again.

"Listen Harry, about this whole tournament which you said you didn't enter-"began one.

"-Which we honestly believe-"interrupted the other.

"You've got to understand that we," the one on the right gestured between the two twins, "can no longer associate with the likes of you," a gesture to Harry, "anymore."

"No hard feelings?" the one on left finished.

Harry felt cold. Even the two twins, who Harry had always gotten along with (even played a few pranks with) were abandoning him. Even when they believed him!

"Why? But you guys even said you believe me so why?" he asked dejectedly. Once more the two shared a glance.

"Because, Harry," they began seriously, "we don't want to be ostracised by our fellow housemates by being the only ones who believe you."

"Also," the one on the left said, "this year we have our eyes on Angelina and Alicia, and well, you see…" he trailed off.

"Let me guess, they too are jealous and believe that I entered myself?" Harry spat out with venom in his tone.

"I don't think it's they believe you to be a glory-seeker Harry-"the one on the right started.

"-It's just," the left one continued, "Angelina was hoping to be made champion and to see you be made a champion over her is hard for her to swallow. I'm sure she'll get over it soon, but until then we can't be seen socialising, our fellow teammate."

"Speaking of teammates, sorry mate,it was a unanimous decision by the majority of the house but you're off the Quidditch team."

"Sorry about that" they finished together.

Harry felt ice cold in his veins. Even his former teammates had given up on him!

"They can't do that!" he argued back.

"I'm afraid they already have mate." They said in sync.

"What about Katie? Does she hate me too?" he asked, fearing the answer.

"Surprisingly enough she's threatened to quit the team."

'Well at least there's that I suppose' he mused.

"Yeah, she felt that we were all being unfair on you and has decided to put herself at risk of being an outcast to the house mate."

"Tell her I said thank you," Harry said venomously, "at least someone is loyal and knows me well enough" he said with righteous fury seeping into his tone and shining in his gaze.

"Hey, if you wanted loyalty you should'a been a 'Puff mate."

Having had enough, Harry rudely made his way past the two Weasley twins and out into the seventh floor corridor. No direction was in mind, just the primal need to escape from the ungrateful pricks in Gryffindor tower. His mind was clouded over with hate towards his housemates for abandoning him, hate for the school for always being a death trap for him and especially hate for the bastard who drafted the concept for having a tournament for kids to risk certain death just for amusement.

Soon finding himself lost, Harry was about to pull out his map when a bizarre tapestry caught his eye. The tapestry depicted a wizard trying to teach trolls the movements to a ballet routine. The horrific sight of trolls in tutus was so distracting that Harry missed the sound of a person approaching behind him.

"Odd, isn't it? Those trolls could never possess the grace needed for ballet" the person behind him suddenly spoke, catching the already twitchy Harry off guard. Turning, he raised his wand from inside his pocket and aimed at the person who had interrupted his ogling of the tapestry, wary of the motives for approaching him.

It wasn't the fact that the person that approached wasn't looking outright hostile towards him, despite the fact they had a wand aimed between their eyes that surprised him most.

It wasn't the fact this person happened to be a girl.

It was the silver and grey snake badge adorning her robes.

 **AN: I'm caught between who I want this mysterious Slytherin girl to be, so if you could leave some suggestions as to who it should be that'd be appreciated. I'm honestly leaning more towards the likes of Pansy Parkinson, as I feel she's a character that is never used by authors and could have a lot of fun developing her as a character, but if people would prefer someone else please tell me. Thanks.**


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